One Glance
by idcabtthisish
Summary: Just a not-so-typical story of how Hayffie came to be. Three-shot. M for language and… other things in the last chapter. Consider it an introductory piece to another Hayffie fan fic, coming soon. Appearances by Cinna and references to Katniss, Peeta, and Rue. Takes place between the 74th Hunger Games & the Quarter Quell. Not necessarily in that order. Please review. NOW FINISHED
1. Chapter 1

**GUESS WHO'S BACK! Thank ABC Family for playing the Hunger Games over the weekend. I watched it and I learned two facts about me: I REALLY hate Katniss (which is a shame cus I LOVE JLaw). She is the most ANNOYING main character in this HISTORY of main characters. I mean… most characters MATURE and develop over time. She didn't. Blah.**

 **SECONDLY EVERYTIME Haymitch came on screen I SCREAMED. I SO love me some Haymitch. He's STILL my favorite character. So NATURALLY this fanfic is about him.**

 **And Effie. Whom I love. I mean I love Elizabeth Banks. I saw her real estate commercial and screamed "OMG EFFIE!" and proceeded to run THROUGH my TV.**

 **So. This is Hayffie. Who I still ship. I am SO not in the mood the write another Everlark fanfic. I'm pretty sure I'm still recovering from Rise From the Ashes. I reread it about a week ago. It was a great story but it definitely burned me out. I blame Katniss.**

 **As usual, I'm not Suzanne Collins. If I were, Hunger Games would have ended WAY differently. ENJOY!**

She'd been looking at him differently for a while now. He wasn't sure why he cared, except that when he was sober, he still felt things, and noticed things, and damn it all to hell if he didn't see the faint smile on her overly painted face.

He pretended it gave him the heebie-jeebies, because the alternative was unacceptable.

Effie fucking Trinkett.

Half the time he didn't even know what to make of her. He missed the days where she were just another Capitol puppet, pissing him off with her constant nagging and assumptions.

Lines were blurred now between the two of them, weren't they? They'd reached this mutual understanding, and though still unspoken about, a part of them had to admit, at the very least to themselves, that things were different, and had been, ever since that night he'd walked in on her and Cinna the first night of the Quarter Quell with their secret plans and designs.

" _No, the Mockingjay pin should be black, Cinna, like her suit."_ Those had been the only words he had heard and then they had noticed him. Her cerulean blue eyes, along with Cinna's coffee brown eyes, had both locked with his, and he stood there, frozen, as he stared at Effie and Cinna, and they boldly stared right back.

Seconds, minutes, or years could have passed for all Haymitch knew. He had no clue how long they were there, the three of them, staring at each other, the silence deafening. Effie didn't even chastise him for his mouth hanging open.

Finally Haymitch shut his mouth, blinked, and turned on his heels and walked out the door, closing it behind him. He looked back, briefly, before the door closed completely, and saw their heads together once again.

Effie Fucking Trinkett.

They'd never talked about it. The kept up their snide remarks and harsh banter, and to anybody who didn't know them, and know them well, it'd seem like any other typical Haymitch and Effie moment. But they knew that the insults lacked heat and passion, and had since the 74th Hunger Games.

Their victors had changed them, and changed their attitude towards each other.

It hadn't come without a few bumps and bruises. Long before the secret messages and the gold trinkets and quick glances there was a burning hatred that Haymitch and Effie shared for each other. She in all her prim and proper, heel clicking, wig wearing, rosy cheeks, and bright pink glory was everything Haymitch hated. She was the Capitol personified, and she took her escorting job seriously. She was _thrilled_ to be serving her precious Capitol, and couldn't _wait_ to move to another District.

She'd been utterly mortified to be assigned to District 12. Not the District with _Haymitch Abernathy_ , beloved winner of a Quarter Quell but now well-known _drunk_. She hated his very being, from his shaggy brown hair that was much too long to the overwhelming stench of his spirits that oozed from his every pore.

He was rude, and insufferable, and wasted away tribute after tribute by getting drunk instead of helping them become victors.

She'd hated him.

And he hated her right back, openly laughing at how horrified she was at the death of their first tribute. She'd been shocked into realizing how painful it was, how difficult it was to do this year after bloody year—pun intended.

Still, the disgust for each other was there, until the ten-year anniversary of the 50th Quarter Quell had arrived, and for the first time ever, she watched Haymitch Abernathy in his Hunger Game, quite the stud, and watched as he destroyed every other Tribute.

He'd killed twenty-three people, and hadn't been but a few years older than her.

She'd been sick to her stomach.

She'd understood a little more then, and tried to be a little more patient, though Lord knows it was hard, with his bad attitude and drunken stupor. He was angry, bitter, heartless, and didn't show a lick of compassion. She coached the Tributes as best as she could, because _someone_ ought to, though there was more days than not where she had to physically force herself to give those Tributes false hope day after day and year after year.

She saw her first glimpse of the _real_ Haymitch Abernathy the minute Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark went toe to toe with him. Oh sure, Katniss was slightly—okay, severely— rough around the edges. But Peeta was simply _darling_ , and though he was the weaker out of the two he still had potential. They both had something no other Tribute had shown them: fight.

And that fight did something to Haymitch. He drank less. He started dressing properly. And dear God he was actually getting their Tributes Sponsors. Effie had no idea who this Haymitch was, but she welcomed him with open arms.

Still, the road to stolen glances and soft smiles, was a hard one. The same Games that had bought them together had nearly broken them apart. They had bonded somewhat from the very beginning of the 74th Hunger Games. From the minute Effie had gotten the chance to laugh at him when they were on the train, it felt like a different time for them.

" _Honestly Haymitch," she had said with a smile, "You'd have thought that with how long and how often you've been drinking you'd have known how much to have in order to_ not _fall off stage."_

He'd glared at her, with his bloodshot eyes, wiping his cut lip on his shirt, scowling all the while.

" _Pipe down, Princess,"_ he had snarled, and she'd walked away cackling, her heels clicking loudly on the tile floor of the train.

When he was sure she was no longer nearby, he cracked his own smile.

One glance. One glance was all it took between them, the glance they shared the second they realized they had a pair of fighters on their hand, and every single thing changed.

Suddenly they were working together and doing everything in their power to do what they could for Katniss and Peeta. And there was never a sound, never a _whisper_ about the longer glances, the quiet smiles, the locked eyes.

And then Rue died.

Sweet, little, angelic Rue, and Effie couldn't, for the life of her, understand why Haymitch was yelling at the television, and cursing Katniss' name, calling her stupid, and foolish, and naïve, all for burying the darling little 11 Tribute.

"Have you no _heart_ , Haymitch?" Effie had finally snapped in anger, for once voicing the thoughts she had had for the past several years. "What Katniss did was heroic! She gave Rue a proper buriel. What's so _wrong_ with that? Are you so selfish that you can't even allow yourself to appreciate such a guesture?"

Effie wasn't sure what had triggered it—which word, which phrase, which syllable, but he'd been furious. For the first time ever she'd witnessed first hand the blazened look in his eyes that had helped him win his Quarter Quell. He walked up to her and grabbed her, roughly, shaking her a few times so that she missed the way Cinna stood up out of his chair, calling Haymitch's name. All she heard was the anger in his voice as he spoke.

"You and your damn naivety. You have no fucking _clue_ what this means. And the pathetic thing is, Princess, is that you don't even _wanna_ know. You're so full of yourself as you worship the Capitol ground you walk on, but got damn it to hell if Katniss Everdeen didn't just sign herself up for a death wish. But what the _fuck_ would you know besides the bullshit your precious President Snow feeds you? Burrying Rue like that was a one way ticket to making sure her family doesn't survie. She's breaking the rules, and Snow is the kind of person who'll keep you alive just so you can suffer for the rest of your life in misery. He did it to me. He killed my whole fucking family and kept me alive just to make sure I knew he did it, and could never do anything about it. I'm a Victor, but I've never won a day in my life. But you didn't know that. You didn't know what cus you never bothered to even ask. And Katniss Everdeen… well the girl is too damn much like me for her own good. So forgive me if I don't stop and smell the fucking roses. This whole got damn place stinks."

The whole conversation couldn't have taken more than thirty seconds, but it rocked Effie to her core. She stood there, in that same spot, for several moments, shaking, numb with disbelief, until she finally noticed Cinna in front of her.

Cinna fixed her a drink and she sipped until she calmed down. She didn't see Haymitch for several hours, though she figured he had something to do with Cineca Crane announcing there could be two Victors, as long as they came from the same District. The only time she caught a glimpse of him was when she'd fallen asleep on the couch, in front of the television, as Katniss watched over Peeta in the cave. She had woken up to their whispers.

"How much longer before you think she gets the medicine?" asked Cinna.

"She's antsy," Haymitch muttered. "It'll be soon. The boy's getting worse."

They were silent for a few more moments and then—

"Is 11 still Rebelling? Last I saw—"

"Are you crazy? If Effie hears you…." At that moment Effie assumed that Haymitch had glanced at her, though she wasn't one hundred percent sure. She'd kept her eyes shut, and it was a miracle that she did. Her heart pounding in her chest, she continued to feign sleep.

"She's alright, Haymitch," Cinna said softly, his voice even lower than before, now forcing Effie to listen even harder.

"Alright enough to trust?"

Cinna didn't pause. "I believe so." Haymitch paused for a long time, so long that Effie didn't think he'd respond. "You should give her a chance. You two are both to blame for the way you treat each other. You've both made incorrect assumptions—"

"I don't have time for this shit Cinna," snapped out Haymitch. Then sighing he apologized. "It's been a long day. I need to sleep. Wake me up when the girl goes to get the medicine."

Effie waited several minutes, until she heard Haymitch's soft snores, before finally opening her eyes.

When she did, they locked with Cinna's.

"You were awake," he said calmly, and stated it as fact.

"I was," replied Effie.

"And?"

Effie stood up, straightening her wig as she did. "Why do you trust me?"

Cinna walked up to her. "Because I'm sober enough to see the pain in your eyes, even if and when Haymitch is not."

Effie closed her eyes briefly. "Goodnight, Cinna."


	2. Chapter 2

One glance had him shutting his mouth and looking away. When had he given her the power to do that? Since when could one glance make him bite his tongue?

"This is why we didn't want to tell you," she snapped out, her voice clipped and cold. She walked towards her bedroom door, those damned heels magnified in the silence of the night, even over the soft music playing in the background to drown out their conversation. "If you think for one second you can come in here and change my mind, you can just leave." She swung the door open and stood next to it, her intentions clear.

He could have left. Maybe even should have. But instead he walked over to the door and shut it, softly, in contrast to how he really felt, because deep down all he wanted to do was break the door off of its hinges.

He was close to her. Too close, if he was being honest with himself, but he wasn't ready to admit it, so he stayed there, in her proximity, in her bubble, ignoring the fresh scent of cherry blossoms.

"All I'm saying," he said quietly, "Is that Cinna just lost his life. This is getting dangerous, Princess—"

"Stop _calling_ me that," hissed Effie.

"Why do you hate it so much?"

"I wouldn't mind it all if it didn't sound so derogatory coming out of your mouth. It's like in all this time you still think of me as this Capital puppet parading around like a life-size Barbie." She huffed and walked away from him, walking towards her bar. Then she spun around, her eyes wild. "And damn you for being a drunk and trying to get your life together and forcing the entire _floor_ to get rid of _all_ the damned drinks to help keep you sober."

"That was your idea, Princess," he said with a soft smile. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, and it didn't take long for Haymitch to notice the tears. "Damn it, Effie."

He wanted to run. Dear God did he want to run. What the hell was he supposed to do? He didn't know how to comfort _Tributes_ let alone Effie fucking Trinkett, Escort of District 12.

And current Rebel of the Revolution.

Inwardly cursing himself he made his way to her and reached out to touch her.

She stiffened and locked her cool blue eyes, almost gray in her anger, to his. "Don't. Just because I'm upset doesn't mean I need your pity."

He was quite taken aback by the ice in her voice, the fierceness in her eyes.

Well shit. Effie Trinkett was… _strong_.

"I'm not made of glass, Haymitch Abernathy," she spat, as if she could read his mind.

"What do you want from me, huh Trinkett? An apology?"

"God no. Then I'd be forced into that God-awful position of having to apologize back. But we're in this together, are we not?"

Haymitch took in a sharp breath and stepped back. Without answering he made his way to the door. He wasn't sure why. He just needed to get out. He couldn't talk to her.

"Cinna's dead, Haymitch." He stopped in his tracks, at the door, his hand on the knob, and turned around. "Plutarch is running the Games. Our Tributes… our Tributes will be lucky to make it out alive, even if half the other Tributes are apart of this. We are all each other have. You and I have pretended as if I'm not apart of this for long enough. It's just us. We're all we got. And damn it, Haymitch, we're supposed to be a _team_."

He stared at her for several moments, his gray Seam eyes locked with her robin egg blue eyes, red at the rim with tears she refused to allow to fall. "Gold hair," he murmured, "Gold mockingjay pin, gold medallion, and gold bangle."

She slowly walked up to him, cupping his cheek. It was the first real intimate contact they had ever had. He was surprised he didn't flinch, but he'd never give Effie Trinkett the satisfaction, even if he were weak in the knees. "You're a Victor, Haymitch. You won a Quarter Quell. You got two Tributes to survive a Hunger Game. And I know you're doing everything in your power to ensure they survive another one. You're fearless in my eyes. Yet… you're afraid. Why are you so scared of letting people in?"

"Because in my world, people you care about end up dead." He grabbed her hand, his rough, calloused hands, and interlocked it with her feather soft fingers, but before she could grasp his in return, he placed them at her side. She closed her eyes, briefly, understanding his message.

By the time she opened her eyes again, he was gone.

 **XxXxXxXx**

She gave him _that_ glance, that 'we need to talk,' glance, and he looked away, quickly, before anyone caught them. He sat there on the couch, in the living room, in his khaki's and button up, legs spread wide, feet atop the table no less, his hair falling into his eyes, his cheeks overshadowed with a rough beard, gray sprinkled throughout.

But with a quick nod, never looking at her, he acknowledged that he understood, and at some point, he would find her.

This had been their game for a while now. Ever since that night he had caught her with Cinna, helping him design the Mockingjay suit. Haymitch had asked Cinna one time if he was absolutely sure if he could trust Trinkett, and Cinna had said he could, would, and did. Since Haymitch trusted Cinna, he'd been forced to trust Effie. And soon enough the secret signals and eye contact that he and Cinna used to use… well now, Effie was apart of it too.

She proved to be brilliant, much more than a fashion model and designer. Though Cinna had created most of the design, Effie had suggested several things to better the Mockingjay suit.

After Cinna was killed Effie came to Haymitch's room one night—late—but he had still been up.

She came with Cinna's sketchbook. After damn near cursing her out for coming to his room so late, Effie handed Haymitch the book, sitting down next to him on the bed.

"You need to get it to 13," she told him, "So that they can start making it. It needs to be ready for her whenever you guys…." Effie's voice trailed off.

"What do you mean 'you guys?' Do you think we're leaving you behind?"

"Haymitch, I can't go with you all to 13. I have my own family to think about. My best bet is to play dumb, as if I didn't know."

"Wait a minute, Princess," started Haymitch, but Effie held up her hand.

"I'm not fighting with you tonight, Haymitch." She stood up. "Get that to 13. Cinna made to give it to Plutarch. I'll see you in the morning."

She was at the door when he called out to her. "How long have you been in on all of this?"

He'd never asked her before, and she was surprised he had asked now. She thought about not answering, but instead asked,

"If I tell you, will you answer my question?"

Haymitch snorted. "Sure thing, Princess."

Effie took a deep breath. "I've known about it since the night you told me about your family. You know… the day Katniss buried Rue. I overheard you and Cinna talking." She stared at him, watched as his eyes filled with surprise. "I've officially been apart of this since the day Snow announced my Tributes had to go back into the Games for the Quarter Quell. I went to Cinna's, in the dead of night, and told him I wanted to be a part of whatever plot there was to take the bastard down."

Haymitch blinked at her for several moments and then finally looked away.

"Now for my question." He turned back to her and jerked his head, as if to say, 'go ahead.' "Why don't you sleep at night?"

She thought she might have gone too far. She watched as he visibly paled. She was about to apologize for even asking when he finally said,

"I can't see when it's dark. I don't know who's coming for me. It's the worst feeling in the world to wake up from a nightmare and into the dark. If I don't drink until I pass out, I dream, Effie. I see all their faces. So many faces." She felt the tears, knowing he didn't just mean the people in his Game. "I'm terrified of the dark. Absolutely terrified. My mind's a dark enough place. Demons already live there. They come alive in darkness."

Effie closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. She spoke after opening them. "Thank you for sharing that with me. And since you shared something sacred with me, I'll do the same with you. I thought of you first, Haymitch. After Snow made his announcement, before I thought of Peeta or Katniss, I thought of you, and how there was no way in hell I'd call your name at the Reaping."

"But you did call my name." It was the only logical thing he could say, because anything else, they might cross an even bigger line, and things were already pretty blurred as it was.

"I know." She was whispering. "And I was so scared. I thought I'd faint. But then Peeta volunteered, and I was so relieved. I know that probably sounds horrible, because I care for you all. But I really, truly, didn't want to lose you, Haymitch."

He didn't have time to figure out what that meant, because she was gone before he could grasp the concept, let alone form a sentence and respond.

After several moments he finally turned the music off.

 **XxXxXxXx**

He was remembering that night as he made his way to living room, where they had agreed to meet. He had a snide remark for her in case there was someone nearby, but when he entered the living room, it was just Effie, standing there in one of her stupid suits, that he now knew she hated.

"I don't have much time," she told him as soon as she saw him, speaking softly above the music, "So I'll get right to it." She stood next to the paneled wall. "This right here," she said pointing to a certain panel, "Is a secret panel. There's a bag in here in case you need to make a quick getaway. There's everything you need: food, water, clothes, night vision glasses, goggles, map, and a compass. The works. There's also money, if you need it, that can't be traced back to me."

Haymitch stopped and stood where he was, blinking rapidly.

"Is there a bag in there for you?" Once again, it was the only logical thing he could think of.

"I already told you I'm not coming, Haymitch."

They argued. They argued like they never had, careful not to allow their voices to rise above the music, the music that drowned out their conversation, and they both lost track of how long they went back and forth, but it came to a screeching halt when Effie said,

"Well gee, Haymitch, I didn't even know you cared."

She might as well have had slapped him, or punched him. Of course it wasn't _her_ fault she didn't know. How the fuck could she, when he didn't know himself? He just knew it hurt, what she said, so he had to retaliate.

"I don't care, Effie. If you want to stay here, be my guest. I'm sure you'll be safe. Only people I care about die anyway, so you're fine."

Now it was her turn to look as if she'd been hit. She visibly paled, and she couldn't quite mask the hurt in her eyes at his words.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Got damn this woman for getting under his skin enough to make him feel bad. He watched her as she walked away, her heels clicking, and he bit his tongue so hard to refrain from calling after her that he started to bleed.

It had to be this way, he told himself.

She was safer this way.


	3. Chapter 3

"Damn it Effie if you think I can't or won't break this door down, you got another thing coming, Princess."

When he was still met with silence Haymitch cursed and refrained himself from kicking the door in frustration.

He didn't even know why he was here, damn it.

Yes he did. That stupid Avox, the one with the red hair, had stared at him, one stupid, simple little stare, and the guilt consumed him. So nobody had seen or heard from Effie in a few days…. But it wasn't _his_ fault. It was merely a coincidence that after their fight she had disappeared.

"Effie Trinkett you open this door right now or I swear to God—"

" _Honestly_ Haymitch, _manners!_ What on _earth_ is _wrong_ with you?" Haymitch turned his head and gaped as he watched Effie approach him, heels clicking, hips twisting, wig bobbing. "Care to tell me why you're about to wake up all of Panem?"

He stared at her for several more moments, openly gaping. "I thought you were ignoring me. What are you doing? Where have you been? I thought you were in your room—"

"You thought I'd be in my room… what? Crying over the harsh things you said? Too depressed to get out of bed due to the opinion of Haymitch Abernathy?"

He felt the blush creep up his collar at her words.

"I haven't seen you for three days. Before the Rebellion I couldn't seem to get rid of you. Now I can't seem to find you in the midst of the Revolution."

"Well I had no idea I had to let you know where I was going. You made it quite clear that you didn't give a damn."

"Effie is two o'clock in the morning. Where have you been?"

"Do you mind? You are blocking my doorway, and I have had an exhausting night. I would like to get some sleep."

He stared at her for a few moments, taking in her appearance. Finally he stepped back and watched, slightly amused, as she bristled, her hands shaking slightly as she attempted to unlock her door.

When she slammed it in his face he grinned.

Holy shit, he liked her.

He liked Effie Trinkett.

He opened the door before she could lock it.

"That was incredibly rude," he told her cheekily.

"Yes, well you deserve rude, particularly for barging in on a _lady_."

"Listen woman," Haymitch said, walking up to her, extremely close to her, yet she held her ground, and her breath, until he was mere centimeters away from her, and she ignored the acceleration of her heart and then sighed in relief—and slight disappointment—when all he did was turn on the radio to drown out their conversation. "You've been avoiding me, and I—"

"I truly, honestly could not possibly care less about whatever it is you have to say, Haymitch. I don't want to fight with you tonight. I came home so late in hopes that you'd be asleep and I wouldn't have to face you."

Her voice was cold, condemning, and calculating.

And he deserved it.

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it."

Effie stared at him, wide eyed, mouth open, quite clearly in shock. Then she shut her mouth and blinked.

"Why I never… not in a million years thought I'd get an apology out of you. Honestly out of all the barbaric things you've done over the past twenty years or so—"

"Quit your bitching, woman."

"It is _rude_ to interrupt people, Haymitch."

"Yah, well, you got one apology out of me, don't expect another one. All I wanted to say was we're a team, okay? We can get mad at each other—with us two it's going to happen. But we don't get to run off and never speak to each other again. Not in the middle of a Revolution where either one of us could—"

"Don't say it!" It was the way she had said it that had him choking on his words.

"Effie," whispered Haymitch, and he was surprised with how gentle he was being. "You understand that… the chances of both of us surviving…." She gasped and he looked away at the tears forming in her eyes. "Oh, come on, Princess. You're not supposed to be made of glass, remember?" She stepped away from him, turning around so that he couldn't see her crying. "You know damn well you're safe in all of this, Effie. No one's going to touch you."

"I don't really give a damn what happens to me, Haymitch," she snapped, turning around. "But how the hell am I supposed to sleep at night if you say things like that? I was afraid to pull your name at the Reaping. What do you think that means, Haymitch? It means I don't want to lose you."

He clamped his mouth shut and backed away from her, the bottle he had stowed under his bed flashing in his mind.

"Goodnight, Haymitch," Effie said, walking to her door and opening it. "And don't even think about drowning yourself in that bottle hidden under your bed. I found it a week ago and poured it down the sink. I'll see you in the morning for breakfast."

He cringed when the door slammed at his back, and he turned around, determined to tell her he didn't want to lose her either, because damn it, he didn't, but he couldn't find the strength to do so.

When he heard her sobbing he swallowed his pride and walked back into the room.

She was at her vanity, the music still playing softly, and her eyes locked with his in the mirror. She had both hands behind her head and he realized she was taking off her wig.

He walked up behind her, both of them still silent, and started unclipping her pins, placing the silver on the sink. When her wig was finally removed he then unclipped her curls, letting her hair fall to her shoulders.

Honeycomb blonde stared back at him, and boy was it soft. And it smelled good, too, like lilac.

"Take that shit off your face."

"Haymitch."

"Cake. Take the damn cake off your face. Jesus Christ. Cake, shit, whatever. You don't need it. You never did."

"It's not proper."

"Neither is leading a Revolution with former Victor, yet here we are."

Effie cracked a smile and grabbed the towel next to her, taking everything off—makeup, powder, eyelashes, eyeliner, and eye shadow alike. When Haymitch got his very first glimpse of the _real_ Effie Trinkett, he smiled.

"Not bad, Trinkett," he muttered, their eyes still locked, and he ignored the swoop in his stomach when a faint blush made her pale cheeks rosy. "Not bad at all." He refrained from touching her. He wasn't sure what'd happen if he did that. Instead he nodded to her, bidding her goodnight, and left.

 **XxXxXxXx**

"Haymitch," Effie whispered quietly.

"Don't," warned Haymitch, his voice low, and filled with a deep sense of sadness.

"Haymitch, please."

"Leave."

These one-syllable words were a deeper cut than any knife.

"I will _not_." He spun around, ready to shout at her, but she cut him. "Chaff was a good man, Haymitch, but he wouldn't want—"

"How the fuck would you know what he'd want? You didn't fucking know him!" His words were like an explosion, and the silence that followed his outburst was deafening.

He thought his head would erupt, so he stalked off before she could start yelling at him about _manners_ and _language_.

He cursed when she followed him.

"I don't want you here, Effie," he told her coldly.

"Well that's just too bad, Haymitch. If you think I'm about to leave you alone at a time like this you're sadly mistaken."

He sped up and beat her to his room, slamming the door in her face. A few seconds later he stood there, shocked, as she opened the door with a key.

"What in the hell?"

"I have a master key to every door in this penthouse." He blinked at her. "Honestly, Haymitch, how do you think you've lived all these years? Do you know how many times I've come in to check on you to make sure you haven't choked on your own vomit?"

She shut the door behind her.

"Effie, please just go. Just leave me alone."

"Why should I?"

"Because you shouldn't care!" Jesus, he was so close to losing his composure.

Effie smiled sadly. "I know. But I do. So… there's that."

"You shouldn't care, Effie. Caring… hurts."

Effie's eyes welled with tears. "I know."

And then she hugged him.

He didn't struggle. Maybe he should have, but he didn't. But he didn't exactly hug her back, either. He just stood there, stiff as a board as she wrapped her arms around him.

"It isn't supposed to hurt this bad," he said as his resolve started to break.

"Yes it is," responded Effie.

And finally, _finally_ , for the first time since he had gotten home and found his mother, brother, and girl gone, Haymitch Abernathy lost it.

 **XxXxXxXx**

The moment was never discussed, and even if they wanted to they wouldn't have had time. For one, more and more Districts were rebelling, which meant more work for Haymitch. It was difficult, leading a double life, and not to mention exhausting. He had to get Sponsors as well as send messages to Paylor and Coin. He was only one man. Things were easier with Plutarch and Chaff. But Plutarch was busy risking their Mockingjay's life with poisonous fog and Chaff—well Chaff was gone, and wasn't coming back.

He was alone.

And he didn't _have_ to be, he realized, because suddenly those glances between he and Effie were becoming _looks_ , and pretty soon they'd have to stop _pretending_ and not wanting to a cross a line would have become a crossed line.

So when she glanced at him one night, while they were alone, watching Katniss fall in love with Peeta on that beach, he realized he couldn't keep pretending.

"I was mad at you that day you know," Effie said softly, and Haymitch turned his eyes from the scene on the beach and stared at her. "When you came back from seeing them off and you weren't wearing your bangle. You had no idea the trouble I went through to get all these gold trinkets and you hadn't even bothered to wear yours. And then I saw Finnick wearing it, and it all sort of clicked into place. You didn't tell me he was in on it."

"There's a lot I didn't tell you, Princess."

"You don't trust me."

"Didn't. Do now, if it helps at all."

She smiled and stood up, walking towards him, and he found himself holding his breath. It wasn't until she was right up on him that he noticed something was wrong.

"Effie? What it is?"

"There's something I should say to you, Haymitch, and I should say it now, while I still have the chance."

"Effie—"

"I'm sorry."

He stared at her. "For?"

"For… everything. For being an Escort. For sending two children to their death every single year. For contributing to your alcoholism."

"Effie—" He stood up as she held up her hand.

"Let me finish." The tears fell and she didn't bother to wipe them away. "I killed them, Haymitch. I killed our Tributes. Joining the Revolution was the only way for me to sleep at night. It's given me some peace, really, to know that you and Katniss and Peeta will be safe. It's why I don't care what happens to me. I deserve whatever happens to me. But you? You, Peeta, and Katniss—"

"Effie, stop it."

"You have to survive this, Haymitch. You do whatever you can to make sure the three of you survive."

"What in the hell bought all of this on?"

She smiled sadly at him and turned to the television, just in time to see Johanna interrupt Peeta and Katniss.

"Those two… they gave me something to hope for when I thought I'd suffocate from guilt. When this is all said and done… let them do the same for you, okay?"

She hadn't waited for a response. Instead she just walked away.

Later that night, long after Beetee had let Katniss and Peeta in on part of the plan, Haymitch was headed towards his room. He knew he only had a couple of hours of sleep before the plan was to take place, if all went according to plan, which it should, at midnight.

He was passing Effie's room when he heard her sobbing.

So he opened the door, and lines were blurred, because all it took was a simple murmur and a single glance, and they were all over each other. Over twenty years of pent up frustration and hurt and pain and anger came crashing down all at once.

He crushed his lips to hers and she made the most _thrilling_ sounds that caused his blood to warm in all the right places. He could barely see her, save for the flashes he got on the muted television, its screen tuned in to the Games. A storm was brewing on the screen but it was nothing compared to the volcano that was in this room.

Jesus he didn't know he could feel like this again.

It was quick, because it'd been years, fucking _years_ since he'd done this, and who'd have thought Effie Trinkett would be so warm and tight around him?

A perfect fit.

She clawed at his back, her body responding just as enthusiastically as his voice, and nobody had ever quite said his name like that, and he might be alright if she said it like that every single time.

It was rough, but who needed gentle in this world? There would be time for tenderness and learning each other's bodies and talk of happily ever after.

There was plenty of time for that.

Only there wasn't. Because moments after they finished, before it could even sink in, what they had just done, all hell broke loose, the whole plan went to shit, because Katniss ended up firing at the force field instead of Beetee.

"Oh my God," Effie said, sitting up.

Haymitch cursed, grabbing his pants, damn near falling as he was trying to put them on. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

He didn't bother buttoning his shirt. He just headed towards the door, and was nearly down the hall when he realized Effie wasn't behind him.

He froze, knowing he was losing precious seconds, but turned back.

She was in the same place he left her.

It took every piece of strength she had, but she finally locked her eyes with his.

One glance and he knew she hadn't changed her mind. Still, he said,

"Come with me."

"Haymitch," she sighed. She gave him a sad smile. "Don't forget your bag in the panel."

He hesitated, then made his way over to her, locking lips once again. "When this is all over, I'll find you."

She laughed as a tear fell. "I'll hold you to that, Mr. Abernathy. Take care of our Mockingjay, and yourself."

He held her gaze for a moment longer and then headed back towards the door. When he reached it she called his name. He turned.

"Stay alive," she said quietly, and he smiled.

"You too, Princess."

And with that, he was gone, and he didn't look back, couldn't look back, because if he did, he'd pick that woman up and whisk her off with them. So he strutted, very much alone, and grabbed his bag, never looking back, off to join Plutarch to rescue their Mockingjay.

Before he was even on the hovercraft they had come for her.

 **THE END! I'm going to get started on my next Hayffie series. Hopefully it'll only be a two-shot.**

 **Let me know what ya'll thought.**


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